


Arrowroot

by fenren



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abortion, Abusive Relationships, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ayakashi, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Knotting, Light Angst, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega Verse, Original Character(s), Past Character Death, References to Sexual Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Yôkai, not redemption fic, past trauma, unlicensed medical practitioner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenren/pseuds/fenren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izawa, an omega, runs an apothecary for demons and spirits, not a daycare for human criminals. He only agrees to act as the jailor to a patient’s rapist because Sakamura Hiroto, a human and an alpha, can never be tried by the human justice system and Izawa needs a new assistant, anyways.</p><p>However…he may have been given the job of ‘reforming’ Hiroto, but can such an unapologetic man really change his ways?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrowroot

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote myself into the proverbial trash bin with this one. I am perfectly aware that the premise itself is problematic as hell so if it bothers you, leave while you can.
> 
> I played around with Japanese mythology and folklore by mixing it with the Omegaverse. Because some names are almost impossible to translate (decently), I decided not to for consistency. Demons/spirits are collectively referred to as yōkai, deities/divine spirits are referred to as kami. You can think of the setting as a Takamagahara-esque place, a world for the gods in real life Shinto. In this story, the yōkai also live here.
> 
> I tried to tag for as many warnings as I could think of. Feel free to ask if there is anything you might have concerns about.
> 
> Please note: This is not a redemption fic. What Izawa is trying to do (reform Hiroto) is extremely difficult if not impossible to do to people with real antisocial personality disorder (or at least, those who fall firmly along the 'complete lack of empathy and consideration for others' side of the spectrum).

Izawa’s home was safely ensconced in a thicket of cedar trees that grew unchecked throughout the long years he had inhabited it. The forest stretched from the base of the mountain to the plains a few kilometers east of the Matsuo River. Shadows danced across the ground, bathing him and his traveling companion in the dappled blanket of the canopy above.

While the air in the mortal world had been abuzz with nervous energy and tainted by the gritty scent of smog and other pollutants, in this world it was cold, clean, and earthy.

The human walking next to him scented the air repeatedly. A sneeze burst from him when he sniffed too deeply, but he hid his startled expression well. Izawa’s lips and eyes creased in amusement as he silently observed his new ward.

As an alpha, Hiroto had likely always exuded confidence and the bullheaded pride typical of so many other alphas, not just the human ones. He had met his sentencing at the trial convened at the Palace with an indignant gaze that burned with righteousness. It was no small miracle that the Eighth Vice-Minister in charge of the proceedings had not smited him on the spot. Izawa’s own meeting with him had seen the human tilting his chin up in a subtle show of superiority before any words were exchanged.

Well, that had been _before_ Izawa nearly broke Hiroto’s forearm. Contrary to Hiroto’s wild imagination, he was not one of those frail, needy omegas that needed an alpha to put them in their place.

But out of his element, Hiroto was marveled at his new surroundings with childlike wonder. Wide eyes drank in the overwhelmingly rich shades of green, from the light jade colored leaves to the dark green mosses wrapped around the trees’ aged trunks. As Izawa’s modest residence came into view through the thicket, he heard the human’s breath hitch, each punctuated by a flutter of nervousness. He walked over the pathway, overgrown with tightly packed grasses and vines, like a newborn calf.

Cute, for a criminal.

The notion left a bitter taste in his mouth. Eager to chase it away with the musty scent of home, Izawa went ahead of his charge at a slow jog.

“H-hey!”

He was definitely nervous beneath the wonder and haughty glares.

Izawa allowed his shoulders to quiver slightly in silent laughter before he slowed down and tread through the garden with careful steps. Hiroto in comparison lumbered across the boundary between the forest and the house. He cursed as he tripped over the dense grasses that had invaded the pathway in Izawa’s absence.

Not that Izawa had been gone for long. He had already been running a few house calls in the mortal world at the time that the daitengu Natsuki had called upon his services at the request of the young priest from Yahiko. Only a few more days had passed since then, but in such a short time Izawa’s chest ached for the comforts of home on more than one occasion.

The rich chestnut brown doors rattled as he pushed them open and stepped inside, inhaling deeply. They were instantly engulfed by the slightly stale, aromatic scent of a home inhabited by more books and herbs than living beings.

As Izawa removed his shoes and exchanged them for an indoor pair, Hiroto hesitated at the entrance, one hand gripping the doorframe until his knuckles went white.

When Izawa looked over his shoulder, he saw the dread clouding the man’s downturned expression. His eyes darkened as he lifted his eyes to stare into the house and at Izawa’s thin form. The resentment was painfully bright in Izawa’s conscious, but it was crucial that he acknowledge that discontent, accept it, and stare the alpha down until he was the one retreating from the pointless confrontation.

Satisfied, Izawa stepped up from the packed earth on the surface of the entryway to the wooden floors of the main house. He ran a hand over the sliding screens in the hallway, enjoying the texture beneath his fingers.

“Help me air this place out,” he called out behind him. Shortly after he heard the human scrambling into the house, heavy steps traveling in the other direction.

Izawa let him wander the halls of his new home without worry. This place was lovely as far as prisons went. It would feel more like an extended stay at a traditional inn. 

This whole arrangement itself barely passed as a punishment at all given the sort of penalty that humans would have doled out to any _yōkai_ who dared to harm one of their own. But it had been one of the few acceptable options that did not leave a rapist free to walk the land again.

Hiroto had committed a crime against a _yōkai_ , after all, a crime that no human justice system could ever judge.

He traveled deeper into the house.

It was a relatively small place. But to Izawa, this home had always felt much too empty and barren for a lone omega such as himself. It took very little time to open all the storm shutters and sliding doors, inviting a cold spring breeze inside. 

He paused on the porch for a moment, leaning against a wooden post. With the knowledge that another person was sharing the same view and lightly scented air as himself, Izawa no longer felt that his home was as empty and hollow as it looked.

When he finally tracked down Hiroto, the human was in the study, predictably frozen in place. The walls here were with dusty shelves of scrolls and old texts, and the entire place smelled of worn paper and ink. 

The adjacent room was filled with the herbs that he needed to mix almost every formula that existed on both sides of the Sea of Japan. All one hundred and sixty five common herbs, plus a few rarer ones that he kept preserved for emergencies.

“You obviously have no need to air these rooms out. If you even try—”

“Wha…!” Hiroto whirled around, his scent changing dramatically. It was normally deep and bitter, but fragrant, like coffee beans. The scent of modernity. But now it was sharp and gritty, more like metal burning in a forge.

Izawa hunched his shoulders and lowered his eyes show that he meant no harm. Watching that startled, guarded expression melt into realization and embarrassment brought a smile to his face.

Straightening his back, Izawa walked through the study to the stockroom. He motioned for Hiroto to follow.

As soon as they opened the doors, they were assaulted by a strong stench that had even Izawa’s nose twitching. The aroma of herbs, some bitter and others sweet, all deep and rich but more pungent than a tea shop, relaxed muscles that Izawa had no idea were tense at all.

Hiroto buried his nose in the crook of his elbow, eyes clearly watering as he staggered backwards. He might have made a choking noise, muffled by his sleeve.

Rolling his eyes, Izawa grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside.

“This is the storeroom where I keep all of the herbs I might need for the _kanpō_ that I sell. One of your duties will be to help me keep this place stocked. Although it’s tedious and time consuming work, it’s absolutely necessary. And easy, once you get used to it.”

“ _…Kanpō?_ ”

“Are you even Japanese? _Kan-pō_ , Chinese medicine?”

Clearly the current generations had moved on from traditional medicine. Though Izawa swore that he had heard of humans who still used them today…maybe it was just the youth who were oblivious.

“Experience will teach you better than anything I tell you now,” he said, shaking his head. “I may have to teach you how to read these labels, though…let me see.”

Izawa plucked a wide glass jar that required two hands to lift off a shelf. He would need it later anyways.

“Can you read this?” He held the jar up, displaying the clearly written label. Inside the jar were gnarled roots.

“ _Usu…yō saishin…?_ ”

“Yes?” Izawa implored, dark brown eyes shining in anticipation.

“Thin, spicy…paper…?” Hiroto frowned. After a moment, he shook his head and glared at Izawa. “Is that in Chinese?”

He ground out those words like they were a curse. Sighing in disappointment, Izawa tucked the jar under his arm and ushered the human out of the stockroom. 

Oh well. It was too much to hope for that he would have even a basic understanding of the herbs commonly used in Chinese and Japanese medicine.

“What is it?” Hiroto insisted, saying it louder as if he thought that Izawa misheard him the first time.

“Dried wild ginger roots, good for pain. I need to make a mixture up for Togō, since he should be arriving in the next few days.”

Hiroto’s steps faltered. The uneven rhythm of his feet thumping against the floorboards was impossible to miss. Although his new assistant remained silent, Izawa silently cheered.

He stopped himself from holding hope for this degenerate fellow, but it was a good sign that he faltered when hearing the name of the omega he had raped and impregnated. At the time of his trial, Hiroto still felt no remorse for the deed. Although he had helped a criminal organization hold Togō and countless other omegas captive, he thought it was acceptable to force them to have sex for some unfathomable reason.

He had admitted to raping them, knew it was wrong, and claimed to have no regrets. Izawa shivered just thinking about the human’s callous words. He would probably never understand this man.

Not that he ever expected to understand any human, _period_ , but Hiroto was a special case.

He was suddenly overcome by an irrationally intense pang of _hatred, disgust, grief_ , all wrapped up into a single package of decades old loathing. The air adopted a foul scent that reminded him vaguely of freshly spilt blood, of poisoned flesh, of—

“…Izawa? Izawa…?”

He blinked. When had the room become so blurry and dizzyingly slanted? 

He had been heading to the kitchens, but stopped and began staring straight into the forest. The dappled lighting swayed in the sweet, cold spring breeze, almost playfully lapping at the edges of the house.

Hiroto’s hand shook his shoulder none too lightly. Frantic jerks broke him out of his trance at last.

Those same hands had held a fellow omega down while their owner violated him.

They were the hands of a criminal, tainted by filth.

Izawa shook the human’s grip off with ease, barely restraining the snarl of disgust that almost slipped out. As he sped up his steps, he wondered if he should find something in that storeroom to ease his own growing discontent. Working under the influence of a mind anxiolytic would present no issue.

No. He took a deep breath. He had to carry on normally, as if that momentary surge of age old hatred had never happened. Losing himself in the past was no easy feat, but he knew that Hiroto wouldn’t last the week under this roof if he let it take hold of him.

“Tomorrow, I need you to search for a certain flower in the field just over one kilometer from here. I will accompany you this time, but in the future you can make the trip by yourself.”

He was still a bit weak in the legs when he swapped his indoor shoes for the pair just outside the door leading to the kitchen. It had earthen floors instead of wood, allowing it to remain cooler in the summer months. Izawa hardly minded the insects that crawled inside, and the traditional style had its charms.

Hiroto paused at the doorway, frowning as he watched Izawa lift a heavy clay pot off a shelf. His thin arms were swathed in the billowing dark blue cloth of his travel cloak, but he maneuvered around them well enough. As the assistant, Hiroto should have offered to carry the pot at the very least, but Izawa let him stand in the doorway. 

Hiroto had brought along only one extra pair of indoor shoes and Izawa had none that would fit his large feet. It was better to leave a gangly amateur to observe than allow him the chance to mess things up, anyways.

“So, which flower is it?”

“Tansy,” Izawa said as he began to clean the stove with old dishrags. He frowned, shook his head, and motioned for Hiroto to meet him in the garden. “Sorry, I’m a little…We need to fetch water from the well.”

They met up outside, then left the main courtyard to the well located behind the house. Hiroto followed doggedly, not complaining despite the unease that was conveyed clearly in his staggeringly unpleasant scent.

“I will teach you how to read the names of the herbs, and how to identify and preserve them. It may take a while, but it’s not hard compared to that stuff they teach at schools these days. You used to be a student, right?”

Hiroto uttered a noise filled with doubt and distrust. It was only natural, Izawa considered as they reached the stone well, its sides overflowing with moss that snuck in the crevices.

He tossed the old, but sturdy bucket down and motioned for Hiroto to watch as he retrieved the water with practiced movements.

“We have to do that every single time we want water?” Hiroto complained as he let Izawa heave the bucket onto the ledge, some of the water sloshing over the sides. “…Don’t you have books I can learn from instead?”

Izawa cast him a wry look. 

“Is learning from your _jailor_ so repulsive?”

“No, it’s just…”

“You won’t even be able to read them. Most of my copies are written in classical Japanese.”

“We learned that in school,” Hiroto argued, stressing some of the syllables unnecessarily.

“…Have you ever even read medical texts in _modern_ Japanese?”

That got him to shut up. Izawa leaned against the bucket, lowering his gaze to the ripples that expanded as his weight shifted the vessel ever so slightly.

“Unless you decide to never return to your world even after you have served your time, I think you will find little use in learning it.”

“I’m going back! As soon as I can!” Hiroto said firmly, notes of anger souring his scent even further. Izawa wrinkled his nose and picked up the bucket, eager to get a little cleaning done while there was still plenty of daylight.

The water bucket was heavy, but he uttered not a single noise of protest as he carefully walked back towards the house. Hiroto seemed mildly surprised that Izawa could lift the thing without spilling it, though logically it only made sense since Izawa had been living here for decades. It was either use the well or walk all the way down to the river if one wanted water.

They returned to the house and the kitchen a short while later. The kitchen’s dim interior was covered in a fine layer of dust, which the weak rays of light filtering in through the woodwork turned into a flurry of gold when their presence disturbed it.

Izawa’s hands soon fell into a familiar rhythm as he cleaned and prepped a pot of boiling water to make a soup and another vessel for tea. He slipped into the garden to cut chives and grumbled about the lack of eggs until he went to visit the market. 

Not once did he ask for help.

And not once did his new assistant offer it.

 

Izawa sat on the shielded porch that evening, just as he did almost every night before Hiroto was placed in his care. A throbbing ache pinched at the muscles on his back and shoulders. He longed for a long, hot bath, but had to settle for running a cloth dipped in warm water from the stovetop over his body instead. The only baths anywhere nearby were in town, and he had no desire to introduce Hiroto to the rest of the area’s residents tonight.

The human had grumbled about the ‘primitive’ lodgings and angrily asked him why he didn’t have a private bath as if his complaints alone would spur Izawa into going out and building one. He turned away and ignored the alpha’s ensuing growl.

When they had both calmed down a bit, Izawa plucked an old reader off a shelf of rarely used books and told him to study.

“This is for kids,” Hiroto snapped.

“And the illiterate. I do believe that they changed some of the characters in modern times, and the grammar is a bit different, too. Read it and let me know if it really is too easy then.”

And so he had set the human up with the old set of scrolls, some spare paper and ink, and a candle that he very carefully placed into a tall paper lantern. Its warm glow filled the room, spilling onto the porch where Izawa had retired to when he was sure that Hiroto really was putting an effort into his studies.

 _How utterly exhausting,_ he thought with a weary, silent sigh. _I am somewhat glad that I never had children._

Contrary to his words, his chest swelled first with a wistful calm, and then with a surge of sorrow that seized his heart in a punishing grip.

He curled his legs up and hugged his knees. For the first time that day, he felt so utterly alone that he wanted to wander into the darkened forest just so that feeling would be justified.

How silly must he be to think, for even a moment, that a human could offer him companionship? Especially when so many _yōkai_ , each more brilliant and charming than the last, had passed in and out of his life like the changing of the seasons?

The human sitting in the room behind him was a criminal, too. He was powerless now, but Izawa had been the first to examine Tōgo’s wounds and had seen the cruelty that those hands could deal in.

What a mess.

Izawa returned to the warm yellow glow of the room a while later, when the lingering winter cold had numbed his limbs. He slid the sliding paper doors shut with a quiet _clack_ and tucked his arms into the large sleeves of his outer jacket.

Hiroto was bent over the low table in a way that would certainly give him back pains within the next hour. As Izawa sat across from him, tucking his legs neatly beneath him, the human lifted his head and stared questioningly.

“We need to go into town tomorrow morning to restock…everything,” he said with a ragged sigh. “So I need to lay down some ground rules. Listen carefully, I will only say these once. You are now my employee, and as an employee, your words and conduct reflect back upon this store and my business. Keep that in mind before you open your mouth.”

A frustrated frown, borderline hostile, was set firmly on Hiroto’s lips so that his irritation could not be mistaken for anything but.

“I know _that_ much,” he said.

Izawa shrugged. Who knew what parents taught their children these days?

“How you conduct yourself around _yōkai_ can often mean the difference between gaining an ally who will literally move mountains for you or ending up wishing you can die.”

He saw the subtle ripple of Hiroto’s throat. He had no idea of the unabashed cruelty that some _yōkai_ were more than glad to inflict upon each other, let alone a human. Thinking it might do more harm than good to enlighten him, Izawa skipped the extra warning he had prepared in advance.

“…Anything in particular I should avoid?”

At least he had a brain. The common sense part, not the moral part.

Izawa hummed. The list was entirely too long, but if he had to pick the most important, rules about their secondary genders would be it. His eyes suddenly flickered, darkening considerably.

Nothing in particular about his appearance actually changed. 

It manifested as a shifting of the tension air to vaguely suffocating levels, like a steady climb to higher altitudes. Like an owl hunting in the night, its huge wingbeats so silent even a mouse would fail to hear until it was too late. 

Hiroto’s eyes traced the shadows dancing along the length of the sliding screens and widened as if he had seen something demonic there, which was ridiculous. There was no one else in the house.

When Izawa managed to rein that side of him in enough to speak without rumbling a threat or two, he continued where he left off.

“ _Never_ assume that your society’s rules about social conduct apply here. Especially where omegas are concerned.”

Hiroto’s back stiffened, but his expression gave away none of his thoughts on the matter.

“Every species has different rules and customs and while some might be jerks about it, most of the _yōkai_ in town are forgiving. For _yōkai_. Just keep your rude comments to yourself, don’t assault anyone, or scent people you have no interest in getting into a real relationship with. Which you won’t be. Getting into a relationship, that is.”

The look on the human’s face was interesting. He seemed dubious and offended all at once, but wisely held his tongue.

“…Anything else?” He wasn’t argumentative, at least.

“For the record, Tōgo would have had every right to kill you and mutilate your corpse if you assaulted him here. I may be responsible for your actions, but that’s only to a point. If you dare attack anyone, I cannot and will not bail you out.”

“Wh…but that’s unreasonable! What if _I_ get attacked randomly?”

“No one in this town would go out of their way to harm you. You have a right to defend yourself, of course, but you are simply incapable of winning a fight against any of the residents of this world, so it would be wise not to tempt your fate.”

Hiroto slumped, eyes narrowed.

“…Anything else?”

He wasn’t argumentative, at least.

“Yes, one more thing…”

This point was tougher for Izawa to squeeze out. He wished he could have kept it to himself, because to speak it out loud would be to give it life and power. A small bit of power, perhaps the only bit, that Hiroto would hold over him. It was against his nature as a _yōkai_ to even consider it.

He took a deep breath. Might as well let the alpha know how pained he was to admit it. Even if telling him blew up in Izawa’s face, the damage control probably wouldn’t be too bad. Probably.

“The last thing…” he said, sort of obviously trying to delay the inevitable. “…The last thing is that, barring the conditions I just told you, if _you_ make trouble in this world, it won’t be you who has to deal with the punishment. That responsibility falls upon me, your employer. So think twice before you say or do anything.”

“What — so you’re saying —”

“Anyways, after we return from town I’ll show you the spots where you can collect most of the herbs that I use. We should have a bit of time after that to mix up that medicine for Tōgo. It needs some time to steep…”

“Wait, hold on.”

“Sakamura. Please don’t ask me anything more.”

“…Why…?” Hiroto’s voice was vaguely suspicious and probing. Izawa heard the ulterior motive and his heart lurched, leaving a sick feeling in his gut. Not that he really expected the man to be so foolish as to find a way to get back at him outright, but experience told him to be wary.

Izawa shook his head. He pointed to the abandoned reader. “If that really is so simple, I can find another text for you to study. And go to sleep when that candle burns down.”

 

To say that he was nervous about bringing a human to town was an understatement. Humanity lived on a separate realm from them for a reason.

Izawa donned his usual clothes for going out, which attracted extremely obvious stares from his new assistant the second he stepped out of his room.

Traditional clothes were intentionally as formless as possible, so he probably wasn’t admiring Izawa’s body. They had seen each other mostly naked last night and Hiroto kept the stares to a minimum then. The current attention left a scowl on Izawa’s face all throughout their extremely simple breakfast.

The soup was the same bland stock from yesterday with a few new stalks of vegetables thrown in. The leftover rice from the bottom of the pot was soaking at the bottom of the bowls to soften it, though it was still a little chewy. Hiroto’s face twinged in disgust every other bite.

“I don’t suppose you have convenience stores here,” he muttered around a spoonful of soup.

Izawa twitched. “This is not a vacation, you know.”

And he was still staring ten, twenty minutes later. Even when they shut the sliding paper doors, donned their outside shoes and light jackets, and left the house. They began to the walk down the barely existent path that led down to the main road and Izawa could still feel the human’s steady gaze on him.

Eventually, as they stepped off the grass and onto the packed dirt that wound through the hilly terrain, Izawa had had enough of it.

“Okay,” he snapped with a frustrated growl. He yanked at Hiroto’s sleeve. The man was wearing modern clothes,including jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a thin jacket. Izawa’s eyes narrowed as he glared up at the confused alpha. “You were staring at me all morning. Why?”

Hiroto was silent, eyes unreadable.

“…What are you wearing?” he asked at last, pointing to Izawa’s outfit.

Then, to Izawa’s utter surprise, he reached for his waist.

Izawa let out an undignified yelp and swatted his hand away. What the hell—?

He felt a tug and twisted, but was too late to avoid the second hand that came down to yank at the pleated folds of the beige wrap-around skirt.

“What in the world are you doing!” Izawa hissed, snatching at the offending hand and digging his nails into the soft skin.

Hiroto winced in pain. He seemed more concerned with the veritable claws on Izawa’s hands than the omega’s sputtering.

Huffing, Izawa released him and grabbed the front of his shirt to drag him closer so that he could scent and taste the bitter smell he was emitting. They were about the same height since Izawa was taller than the average human omega, and he could see the distinct unease the man suddenly felt at no longer having the usual height advantage.

“Are those _hakama_?”

“Huh?”

“What you’re wearing — it looks Japanese but not,” Hiroto finished hurriedly.

He released the man and looked down.

“It’s not. Not Japanese, I mean. I usually wear Chinese style clothing.” Izawa sighed and turned back to the road. He kept his distance to ensure that no hands would be trying to look up his skirt in the future, though Hiroto seemed to have gotten it out of his system. “You had better not do that to anyone we meet today.”

“I was just wondering,” Hiroto said, not entirely innocent in his tone. “Why are you wearing Chinese style clothes, anyways?”

Well, this conversation got awkward quickly.

Izawa was well beyond the point where he would slip into tears if anything about his heritage came up in conversation. His heart sunk into his stomach thinking about it, though.

“…My kind originates from China. So we used to all wear this type of clothing. No one here really minds.”

He preferred subdued colors, but the hem of his jacket was a vivid jade green embroidered with a pattern that wasn’t native to Japan. The long strips of cloth that tied the wrap-around skirt at his waist, too, was different from the ties on _hakama_.

“Oh. Well, you wear it well.” He could practically hear the light suggestiveness to the human’s tone and resisted the urge to snap at him defensively.

“Thank you,” he said in a clipped tone.

 

When Izawa first stepped foot in the small town by the Matsuo River, he had been much younger, and had crawled here in the middle of a nasty heat. It had been back when his body vehemently commanded that he find a fellow _hakutaku_ to breed him so that they could restore their species. The omega in him sang so violently for it that his own heat made him sick to his stomach and weaker than a child. 

His body still craved it on a regular cycle of every twelve years, but at the time Izawa had no access to the herbs that killed the desire in him. At some point, he had truly been considering that it might be worth it to sink himself at the bottom of the river to escape the need burning his insides apart. 

Only the knowledge that the _kami_ Matsuo would have to deal with his corpse if he completed the act prevented him from doing it. It helped that the spirit stared accusingly at him until he backed off from the rocky outcropping on the cliffs further north of here.

Walking through town after an absence of more than a few days always seemed to put that ugly, desperate memory in his mind. It clung to him like wet clothes. It crawled under his skin like parasites burrowing into his skin.

Today he was no better off with Hiroto by his side. The human walked ahead of him occasionally as if he knew the way, but that was likely the alpha in him reacting to the complete lack of direction in his current life. Izawa rolled his eyes at the man’s broad shoulders and attentive posture, but he didn’t have it in him to scold the alpha for acting like he owned the omega behind him.

Everything was fine until they got a quarter of way to the food stalls. He pointed out two identical bathhouses, one across the street from the other. “One is for alphas, the other for omegas. Betas go wherever they want,” he supplied when Hiroto opened his mouth to ask. “Trust me, you do not want both in the same bathhouse.”

Not everywhere in this world had separate facilities, but it was pleasant in towns where they did keep the alphas and omega apart. Well, that was one point to humanity, he supposed. Humans were, at the very least, a bit less violent than the average _yōkai_. A bit less likely to tear down walls to challenge other alphas and claim omegas, too.

Hiroto didn’t need to know about that just yet. It was better for him to think Izawa had a reason to be harping about morally superior actions. He would see how long it lasted.

After the bathhouses were restaurants and a bookshop, as well as a sort of activity center where people gathered to gamble and otherwise get drunk and laugh off the high with their friends.

And then there was the clothing store. It seemed exceedingly average and humble from the outside. The scent that wafted onto the street from the interior was both fresh and sweet, a mix of lemon and dark honey, as well as a clear identifier of who resided within it.

Izawa hurried past the building, stepping around Hiroto with brisk, silent steps. They would need to visit on the return trip to get Hiroto new clothes, but he simply wasn’t ready to face the shop’s proprietor yet.

The memory of being hefted onto an alpha’s back and crossing the entrance to the colorful interior was always clouded by the hazy uncertainty of his heat from that time. However, he still remembered the disoriented feeling well enough, as well as all the other memories from the days he once spent there.

It seemed that the heavens did not wish to grace him with their presence today, as he should have guessed by the swaths of darkened clouds hanging above their heads since the morning. He heard a familiar voice call out to him with that infuriating nickname he had never been able to shake.

“Iza-Iza! Did you finally get yourself a strapping alpha? What mountain did you pluck him from?”

He groaned. “Keep walking, Sakamura.”

“Huh?”

“Aw, come on, Izawa. I was just kidding,” the alpha storeowner laughed heartily, her voice smooth and rumbling faintly.

Izawa finally turned around, his face turning a red as he felt everyone in earshot turn to listen. He saw his friend leaning against the doorframe of the clothing store that she owned and operated with her mate.

“Chiaki! Stop calling me that,” Izawa said with a frown that leaned more towards embarrassed than angry.

All around them were familiar faces, some set into neural expressions, others stifling their laughter. The owner of the teahouse across the street, the daughter of the innkeeper — everyone. And not all of them looked human. He could tell that Hiroto was making every attempt to keep his eyes on the road ahead and not stare, but now that they had slowed down, he inhaled sharply.

One of Chiaki’s six bushy red tails flicked out behind her, as if showing off to the stunned human spectator. She waved at Hiroto, a playful smile on her face.

“Your new ward, right? Don’t you think he’s a little young?”

“Chiaki! I am _not_ sleeping with him!”

“Ooh? But you’re sharing the same living—”

“ _Goodbye_ , Chiaki.”

A deep cackling laugh that only a fox could make followed him until he was out of earshot. Face burning in embarrassment, Izawa pulled Hiroto along without a word until they reached the marketplace.

“Who was—”

“Chiaki, owner of the only clothing store in town. Which we will have visit sooner or later, unfortunately. She’s a…friend.”

“But I have clothes.”

“You need more clothes.”

“Why?”

Izawa used their arrival to forestall an answer. Bartering in town was always a bit of a chore, but he welcomed the passive aggressive banter. It was better than having Hiroto grill him for information. He made the man stand aside, where no _yōkai_ could step on him. There were several taller than even a human alpha wandering around.

At one of the stands, he tried to talk down a _yōkai_ he knew very well in order to acquire regular chicken eggs. They were a bit rarer than one would imagine in this world, and more expensive as a result. Hiroto was lucky that Izawa bought them at all because he was partial to the fertilized kind himself.

Of course, Izawa’s medicines were also expensive. Which was the reason why no one really felt guilty about charging him twice the amount that a normal customer would be offered.

They lucked out on a few items, overpaid for several more including those eggs, and spent over an hour chatting with some of the town’s residents. With each more animalistic than not, Izawa couldn’t help but feel a little pity for the human following him around.

After all, Kumoto, who sold her textiles to Chiaki’s store, _had_ bullied the guy a bit.

Kumoto was a beautiful _yōkai_ with long black hair that almost seemed _alive_ at certain angles. Her rouge smeared lips were almost always curved into a perfect smile, doll-like and haunting. As she approached the pair at the grocer’s stand, Hiroto instinctively backed away.

He no doubt felt the intensity of her stare as a _challenge_ more than a greeting. Izawa, who was an omega and more than used to her ways, simply ignored the predatory smile knowing that she would do nothing to harm him.

“Dr. Izawa, it has been far too long since I have seen your adorable face. We must catch up over tea one day.” Her voice was low and soft, but echoed with a hint of insincerity. Well, her kind liked to give people that impression, anyways.

“Truly,” Izawa smiled brightly. “If you happen to be in the area, feel free to drop in for a little while.”

“I will, I will.” Kumoto’s smile widened, losing some of its insincerity in exchange for a chilling grin. “By the way, I had no idea you were into that business. But even _yōkai_ must change over the years, I suppose.”

“‘That’ business…?” Izawa echoed, tilting his head curiously.

She pointed a long, pale finger at Hiroto, who had been trying not to outright bolt at the presence of an alpha who most certainly outranked him in strength.

“Are you selling? Human is such a delicacy these days, with those uptight officials banning it after so many years…”

Izawa smelled the sour notes on Hiroto’s scent, his fear growing more palpable by the second as he realized just what Kumoto meant by ‘selling’ and ‘delicacy’.

He allowed himself one moment more to enjoy the slightly stomach-churning scent. It was almost exactly what Hiroto had done to all those omegas, after all. ‘Selling’ those ‘exquisite’ wares had no bearing on his conscious, even though Tōgo had reported that the room those omegas were held in reeked of fear and despair.

Then, finally, he stood firmly in front of Hiroto and smiled sweetly and earnestly at Kumoto.

“Sorry, the Eighth Vice-Minister will have my head if I let anything happen to him. He’s supposed to be serving out his sentence here, you know?”

“Ah, yes, yes. I did hear something about a trial in the city. What a pity. An alpha’s heart is quite the treat. Very different from betas or omegas. Have you ever tried, Dr. Izawa?”

“Ehehe,” Izawa laughed weakly. “No, I have not. Nor do I intend to. Well, we must be on our way, Kumoto. It was good seeing you again. And do stop by for tea.”

“I will,” Kumoto said, though it was less of a promise and more of a ‘farewell until our next serendipitous meeting’. She nodded politely to them, no colder or warmer than before they got into the whole ‘human blackmarket’ talk. “Take care.”

He could tell that Hiroto was more than peeved, but said nothing to him as they made their way back towards Chiaki’s store on the main road.

When they had finally arrived in front of the modest store, Izawa had no choice but to explain why he needed new clothes. They stopped by Hiroto’s apartment to pick up his belongings before coming to this world. They had raided his apartment, including nearly his entire closet, so the man’s confusion was understandable.

Izawa huffed as he tried to shift the wrapped packages in his arms around so that nothing was digging into his internal organs. Their goods were wrapped in dull squares of cloth and a few paper bags, but the rest he had paid to be delivered to his home. Still, some of the delivery prices had been too steep and so both he and Hiroto were burdened with a few rather heavy items.

“…You’re surprisingly cheap,” Hiroto commented, his voice muffled by the pile in his arms. Or maybe it was merely that he still had not recovered from their encounter with Kumoto.

“You have no idea how much extra those _yōkai_ charge me because I make way more than them, okay?”

“So you’re considered rich…?”

Izawa entered the store with a noncommittal shake of his head.

The interior was packed wall to wall with shelves so that there was barely any room to walk. An overwhelming array of fabrics was shoved into each shelf, but some still overflowed like a waterfall of brilliant colors and embroidery. Most of these clothes were probably outdated by human standards, if the offended look on Hiroto’s face was any indication. But since Chiaki prided herself in carrying the latest fashion, it was probably best for Izawa and Hiroto’s sanity that she never realize how much Hiroto could teach her about modern times.

“Oh, Iza-Iza! So you did return. And with your little assistant, too. I heard about your little babysitting stint from Yasuya the other day.”

Izawa flashed Chiaki a weak smile as he piled his acquisitions next to the counter. The alpha was walking out of the back room, a pile of kimono dyed with subtler colors in her arms. Her tails swayed as she walked and they took up most of the room behind the counter, leaving her slightly shorter mate to huff and squeeze her way to the front with an annoyed flick of her tail.

“Hello, Izawa! Are you still wearing those old clothes? Why not shop around for something newer?” said Rin, Chiaki’s mate. She was also a kitsune, but had the odd silver and black coloring that marked her as an original inhabitant of the human world.

“Izawa, who are these…people…” Hiroto whispered, not aware that whispering was as loud as shouting to _kitsune_. Foxes had excellent hearing, after all.

Izawa’s own ears were buzzing from the hum of their voices talking almost all at once.

“Hiroto, this is Chiaki and her mate Rin. Chiaki, Rin, this is that human the Eighth Vice-Minister placed under my care. I need you to find him good traditional clothes. No fancy patterns or colors.”

“Traditional? Are you taking him to the festival?” Rin asked politely. Her voice was quiet and deferential, just as Hiroto expected omegas to be, but Izawa wasn’t fooled. The playful, mischievous Chiaki had taken her as a mate for a reason.

“Ah, I was thinking of it…”

“Woah, really?” Chiaki said, so interested that she leaned over the counter, tails curling.

Hiroto stumbled at the sudden movement, prevented from crashing into the shelf behind him at the last minute by Izawa’s tug on his sleeve.

Chiaki laughed at his antics and smiled, revealing a set of sharp incisors.

“Yes…”

“You should be careful…” Rin said, looking to Chiaki for confirmation. Her golden eyes flickered uncertainly. “It might not be safe for a human to attend.”

“Wait, what are they talking about, Izawa?” Hiroto insisted, placing an insistent hand on Izawa’s shoulder.

Wow, he did not want to have this conversation. Withdrawing from the counter and Hiroto, he crossed his arms and held his ground with a small frown. Seeing his behavior switch so suddenly, Chiaki straightened her back and gave him a reassuring smile. Her pheromones were no longer as potent against others, even omegas, now that she was mated. But Izawa was familiar enough with her sharp, lemony scent that it relaxed his shoulders a bit.

Hiroto seemed to have noticed the difference. He let his hand slide off Izawa’s shoulder, but was still staring at him as Chiaki spoke.

“My apologies, we got a little carried away. Let Rin take your companion to the fitting room, and we can catch up in the meantime.”

Izawa nodded stiffly, but refused to move from his spot. His heart was beating a bit faster than normal, and Hiroto’s scent edging between the usual fresh brewed coffee to a bitter scent of nervousness and agitation didn’t help.

Nor did the suffocating interior of this store, entirely too vivid and an overload on his senses, help distinguish the past from the present.

“Wait, I want to know. What do you mean it might not be safe?” Hiroto demanded, refusing to follow Rin. The omega frowned at the same time that her alpha hissed in warning, startling Hiroto.

If he wasn’t a criminal, Izawa would actually have felt bad for putting him through this on his first day here.

“…There are usually a few humans at those festivals,” Izawa finally supplied with a sigh. He looked to the floor, which was covered in stray threads of all sorts of colors. “Exorcists, shrine priests and priestesses. And a few…others who ended up in this world for one reason or another. If you want to know more, I’ll tell you when we return home.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Hiroto, but he had no choice to accept it.

Actually, he had already given up the right to question anything about his current station in life. If Izawa reminded himself of the crime Hiroto had committed, he no longer felt so pressured by the man’s incessant questions and demands for information.

“Come, mister…?”

“His name is Sakamura.”

“Mister Sakamura, right this way,” Rin said encouragingly. Her sweet smile was almost as sweet as her faint honey scent, which was usually covered by a perfume of some sort. Today, it was a perfume that smelled of sweet spring rain.

He watched Rin lead Hiroto into the next room, her four tails a little stiff and alert, but Chiaki was more focused on Izawa than Rin.

Her golden eyed gaze pinned him to the spot, refusing to let him escape until he caved. It was ultimately that gaze that had drawn them apart, because Chiaki was too good at understanding when Izawa wasn’t as ‘good’ or ‘alright’ as he claimed. He found himself unable to deal with that invasion of privacy, his inability to escape her piercing gaze even without the tie of a pair bond to unite them.

A faint dusting of rouge tinted her high cheekbones. It complimented her tails nicely.

Izawa’s eyes turned down to the floor.

“Iza,” Chiaki murmured. Her voice sent a tremor down his spine, but it was no longer a tremor of desire as it had been in the past when he was young and confused.

Her voice had pulled him out of trances, states where he lost himself in a sea of accusatory wails and the stench of blood. But because of that, he couldn’t get used to her voice as anything but a reminder of the lowest part of his life.

“I’m going to be fine,” he said thickly. “It’s just, this whole thing — it’s stressful.”

“…You’re going to have your next heat in a year or two.”

“A year, a year exactly. Of course you remembered…”

“How long will that human be staying with you?”

“…I don’t know.” _However long it takes for him to learn guilt, if that’s even possible,_ he thought. If she noticed the lie, she gave no indication of it. “He won’t take advantage of me. He’s used to ordering omegas around, but it’s different here.”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten that physical strength isn’t the only way to manipulate a person?”

“I won’t be manipulated again.”

Chiaki said nothing more, merely nodding at his answer even though she clearly had her doubts. 

It was Chiaki who had manipulated him, after all, even if it she had done it for his benefit. No matter how many years passed, Izawa was never able to forget that fact.

**Author's Note:**

> Humans have heats once every 3-4 months for a few days and are almost guaranteed to get pregnant if they have sex during it. Yōkai cycles depend on their lifespan and the animal they were based on. Izawa’s species lives for a long time so his heats are on a 12 year cycle and last for 2 months (they’re not as intense as normal Omegaverse heats so he doesn’t, you know, die from the heat lasting that long). I wrote more about this on my tumblr, fenren.tumblr.com.
> 
> I miiight add mpreg in the future. If anyone is actually interested in this story, let me know what you think.


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